Queen of Love and Beauty
by dragonbride22
Summary: This is the story of Prince Rhaegar and Lyanna Stark...and all the delicious romance and drama their story entails.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: Oswell

A dense fog surrounded the castle as Oswell Whent rode through the gate of his childhood home. He had forgotten the eerie atmosphere of the cursed castle and shivered slightly as long forgotten tales of lingering ghosts and tragic accidents flooded his thoughts. As he handed the reins to the waiting stable hand, he concentrated on refocusing his mind to the task at hand.

"Brother. It is good to see you." He grasped his older brother's hand firmly in a token of respect and affection.

"And you, Oswell. Please, sit."

The two brothers eased into the comfort of the solar, sipping delicious Arbor gold while trying to outdo one another with outrageous stories from their youth. Long after darkness had fallen, Lord Markus Whent walked to the door and checked to see that they would not be overheard. He had chosen this spot for its privacy, but one could never be too careful.

"Tell me, brother, how fares our king?"

Oswell held out a small clay jar for his brother's inspection.

"It's empty of course, but you know what it's made for." Oswell opened the jar so his brother could examine the thick walls and tight seal. Markus sighed.

"So, it is true then. I did not want to believe you."

"No one wants to believe their king mad."

"Yes, Aerys is a little mad. But he is still our king."

"Prince Rhaegar should be king."

"I have no doubts the prince will be a worthy ruler, but it is not yet his time."

"Markus, why will you not see reason? Tywin Lannister is no longer the Hand. Who will keep Aerys in check?"

Silence followed for several minutes as each man poured and consumed another glass of Arbor gold. The sweet wine mixed well with the tart pastries Markus' squire had brought them an hour before. Oswell stared at his brother, noticing suddenly that he was clean shaven. There was a gash on the right side of his jaw; the maester must have shaved his beard to treat the wound. A tiny trickle of wine escaped his brother's lips, leaving a glimmering trail down his chin.

"Brother," said Oswell slowly, "this jar is not the only one I've found. There are hundreds, perhaps thousands of them. He….the king….he likes to burn things."

"I like to burn things. It keeps my feet warm at night."

"Markus, Aerys likes to burn….people. He sets them on fire and shrieks with delight as their skin melts off the bone. He….likes to make us watch."

There was a few more moments of silence before Markus found his voice again.

"Oswell, I didn't realize. Oh gods, I didn't know."

"Markus, the Dragon Prince must become the new king."

"And how does the prince feel about deposing his own father?" Markus' tone reminded Oswell of a little boy who has just been scolded and feels the need to defend himself. Markus always did have too much pride, a family trait, Oswell admitted to himself.

"He knows it is necessary. He wants to speak with you."

"He is more than welcome to visit anytime he chooses."

"Markus, he wants you to host a tournament. Here, at Harrenhall."

Oswell smiled as the unexpected suggestion made Markus forget all about his petulant mood and give in to his curiosity, as Oswell had known it would.

"A tournament? Why?"

"It would allow him to meet with us as well as several of the other lords without attracting unwanted suspicion."

"Ah, of course." Markus took another long gulp of wine. "You know, my wife _did_ just give birth to a beautiful daughter."

"It will be done, then?"

"His Grace may count on my full cooperation."

"Then I shall leave at first light. There is much to prepare." Oswell headed to the door. His hand was on the handle when he heard his brother's rough whisper.

"Oswell, be safe."

"I will try, Markus. I will try."


	2. Chapter 2: Rhaegar

Chapter Two: Rhaegar

Rhaegar sighed as leaned against an old willow tree, listening to the gentle song of the stream at the tree's base. He traced his hands over the rough surface of the trunk, thinking about the heart trees the northmen worshiped. The tree was strong, it had obviously survived many storms and, judging by the height of the nearby underbrush, probably a fire or two as well. And there was a certain energy that came from the tree, like a wave of comfort to soothe his anxious mind. He was a devout believer in the Seven, but, unlike many other Southerners, he did not scoff at the Old Gods of the North. He slid down to rest against the trunk. He knew he should probably return to his party, but he needed some time alone to think. He wished he had someone he could turn to for guidance. Most people had their mothers or fathers, or even a trusted older sibling. Rhaegar was the oldest child with a mad father and an enslaved mother. Yes, he knew about his father's treatment of his mother. His mother had confessed to him after he questioned her about the bruises and bite marks on her body during his most recent trip to King's Landing. Enraged, he had confronted his father the king in private only to be immediately dismissed. He tried everything short of kidnapping his mother to keep the king away, but His Grace would not be deterred from his violent fetish. Soon, it would not matter. Acting against one's king was sinful. Acting against one's blood was sinful. Rhaegar knew what he was planning to do was treason and was fully prepared to shoulder the burden of that sin for the sake of his people, the people who were now suffering under the rule of his mad father.

Reaffirmed in his course of action, he prepared to rise and return to his party, but a sudden splash made him freeze. Slowly, he peered around the tree trunk and his eyes widened as the woman, beautiful and completely nude, walked out into the deeper part of the stream. Averting his eyes, he rose and stealthily headed off to find his party. He hadn't taken ten steps before a knife at his throat made him halt. Along with the knife's sharp edge, he could feel the woman's naked body, still dripping from her dip in the stream, pressed against his back. He thanked the gods he had yet to don his plate armor that day.

"My lady," said Rhaegar softly.

"Why were you watching me?" The woman's voice was strong and melodic, not the soft flowery voice he was used to hearing from his wife.

"I was not watching you. I was resting by that tree. I left after you started bathing."

"_After_. So you _were_ watching." The woman lowered the knife and walked around to face him directly. She had the most beautiful grey eyes. They reminded Rhaegar of a storm, beautiful and fierce. "Well, watchman, do you like what you see?"

Rhaegar was speechless. The sight of the woman bathing had been enticing. The sight of her up close was mesmerizing.

"My lady, you are indeed beautiful."

The woman laughed, walked to a nearby tree where she had hidden her clothes, dressed and turned again to face the stunned prince.

"Until we meet again, Your Grace." The woman laughed again as she ran off into the trees. Rhaegar began the long trek back to his camp. By the time he arrived, he had convinced himself that the woman had been nothing but a dream. He mounted his horse and, with his company of about sixty men, including two members of the Kingsguard, he pressed on toward the Tournament at Harrenhall.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: Howland Reed

Howland Reed had never been to a tournament before. In the Neck there were great feasts for almost every occasion, but they were nothing compared to the magnitude of the Tournament at Harrenhall. Outside the castle there was a market that stretched for over a mile filled with every type of vendor you could imagine. Besides the dozens of merchants peddling their silks and spices, there were dancers and jugglers and a mummer's group that performed every night. Most of the lords and ladies stayed within the castle itself, but their men were camped all around it. So, naturally, certain tents and tree circles became unofficial brothels and gambling dens. Howland's father had warned him to be careful. He knew that most of the men here were unaccustomed to crannogmen. Well, he was unaccustomed to them as well, especially the Southerners. They walked roughly, stomping their feet into the dirt as if it had never slipped out from under them, talking loudly and causing a ruckus wherever they wandered. So far he had managed to remain mostly invisible, except for the merchant who sold him a slice of roasted boar, which, in Howland's opinion, was considerably lacking in flavor.

Now he was seated in a tree, enjoying a few moments of shade before the opening ceremonies began. It had not rained in several days, and the ground was dry and dusty. Maybe if it had been muddy like Howland was used to, he would have heard them approaching. But as it was, the ground was dry, and he did not hear them until it was too late to hide.

"Hey, what do we have here? Jole, what's that thing your uncle said he saw in the Free Cities? The animal that climbed trees and did that little dance?" The speaker was a short lad, a squire judging by his dress. With an untidy mop of black hair, the squire was solid muscle.

"A monkey?" Jole had a high-pitched nasly voice and was obviously a few years younger than the first squire.

"Yea," said the first squire, "a monkey. Hey, monkey, why don't you come down here and give us a little dance?"

Trying to decide if it would be best to launch a surprise attack and run or just simply ignore them, Howland sat perched in the tree, trying to keep his eyes locked on the stream below while still keeping a watch on the boys out of the corner of his eye.

"Aww, I think our monkey's a little shy." A third squire had arrived, this one at least a foot taller than the first, although not quite as muscular. He bent down to pick up a tiny rock and tossed it in his hand. "Maybe he just needs a little coaxing."

Before Howland knew what was happening, all three boys were pelting him with small stones from the stream bed. A particularly large stone hit him on the shoulder, making him lose his balance and fall into the stream. As the boys continued to throw pebbles at him, with shouts of "Dance, monkey!" a young woman in a torn and muddy blue gown came tearing through the trees on the opposite edge of the stream. Taking a moment to absorb the situation she immediately began running through the stream, which, although shallow, still left her dress considerably muddier. It seemed at first that the youngest squire would start throwing pebbles at her as well, but the tall one stayed his hand.

"Don't. That's Lady Lyanna Stark." He said.

With thorns and leaves sticking out of her hair, Lyanna helped Howland to his feet, all the while yelling at the squires that they were disrespectful whoresons who should be ashamed of themselves. The only response she got was a sarcastic "Aye, _my lady_" from the tall squire before the three boys sprinted off back toward the camp tents.

"Milster, Prilvain, and Trilarre."

"My lady?"

"I recognized those squires. They serve Ser Milster, Ser Prilvain, and Ser Trilarre, all of minor houses. Robert introduced them to me only this morning." Lyanna laughed as she sat down by the tree and began pulling the twigs out of her hair. "He said they had limitless courage and unquestionable honor. Well, I certainly question the honor of any knight whose squires act like that." She kicked off her shoes and wiggled her toes in the mud. Howland immediately liked her. Not only was she beautiful, her free spirit mentality was refreshing, especially after being bombarded with the rigidity of the Tournament guests.

"So," she said, turning to look him in the eye. "My name is Lyanna Stark. You may call me Lyanna. Who are you?"

"Howland. Howland Reed, my lady."

"Oh, shush with that _my lady _nonsense. You're a crannogman, aren't you?"'

"Yes, my lady."

"My father speaks very highly of your family. I haven't yet had the pleasure of visiting any of the clans. Is your father here with you?"

"No. I came alone."

"Alone? Really?" A long horn sounded in the distance, signaling the end of the market for the day. Soon everyone would be finding their places for the tournament's opening ceremonies.

"Howland, would you join us for dinner?"

"I'd be honored my lady."

"Great, let's go." Lyanna dusted off her skirt, a vain attempt to make herself presentable, and allowed Howland to escort her to the castle, the young lad beaming with pride and dripping with mud.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four: Brandon Stark

Brandon took a deep breath. The politics of the tournament were starting to weigh on his composure, and he had promised his father he would not lose control of his temper. The smell of sweat and horse mixed with the sweet scent of the fresh hay always did wonders for his nerves, and he decided he should check on his horse. The opening ceremonies would begin in a few hours, and he needed several moments of solitude before he must face the throngs of lords and ladies, not to mention his future bride. He hoped Catelyn would be a little warmer to him this time. The lady, though incredibly beautiful, was wound way too tight, and it made him slightly weary to be around her.

He reached his hands over the stall to pat his horse on the back. The horse had been born prematurely, and his father Lord Rickard had decided to put the tiny, sickly colt down, but Lyanna said the horse had a strong spirit and demanded she be allowed to care for it. She named the tiny horse Giant, to inspire him. She fed the horse a mush made of hay and cream, in addition to his mother's milk, and worked with the horse to build up his muscles and stamina. She would have slept in the stables, too, if her father had allowed it. For three months the lady wolf was rarely away from her precious little colt. Then one day at dinner, she casually told Brandon that the horse was his. When her father asked why she did not want the horse for herself, she replied that Giant wanted to be a destrier, and as long as her father insisted she be a lady, she would not be able to help the horse accomplish his dream. To humor his sister, Brandon had trained the horse, and Giant had more than lived up to his name. The chestnut stallion before him now was 17 hands of solid muscle and completely fearless. Though quite large for a destrier, the horse moved with a fluid movement and speed unmatched by any horse Brandon had seen. Although the stallion was friendly and obedient to him, Brandon always knew that the horse preferred Lyanna. Sometimes he would catch her practicing the joust with Giant, the two of them racing as a single stroke of lightning. His father should have put a stop to her unladylike hobbies, but with Lyanna you just had to pick your battles. Brandon wondered if that Baratheon boy knew what he was getting himself into. He seemed like a decent sort, and Ned loved him as a brother. Still, Brandon had his doubts. The boy was brave and strong, but he tended toward drink a little too much for Brandon's liking.

"My lord?" Brandon turned to find his squire Ethan standing in the doorway of the stables. The boy was almost as tall as he was, and that was saying something. He should probably knight him soon. Maybe he would after his wedding to the Tully girl.

"Yes, Ethan. What is it?"

"My lord, your father wishes to speak with you before the opening ceremonies."

"Yes, I suppose he does. Very well. You may tell him I shall meet him shortly."

Ethan made a quick bow and left. Brandon gave his horse a final pat and followed his squire from the tent.


	5. Eddard

Chapter Five: Eddard Stark

"Ned, which one do you think she would like?" Eddard, known as Ned, looked up to his friend Robert holding up two jeweled combs. One was ivory inlayed with emeralds; the other gold with rubies.

"I think Lyanna would prefer a dagger, or maybe a new saddle. She's not particularly fond of combs…or jewels for that matter."

"Nonsense. All women love jewels." Robert of the house Baratheon admired the combs for a few more moments and then turned back to the vendor. "The ivory, I think. It will match her eyes."

"Her eyes are grey, Robert." Ned said softly, staring at the ground.

"Of course they are. I misspoke. I meant to say that they will _compliment_ her eyes." Robert paid the merchant, and the two boys left the camp. Ned thought it might be time to mention something that had been troubling him for some time now.

"Robert, how well do you think you know Lyanna?"

"Almost as well as you probably. I read all the letters she sent you, and I spent a great deal of time with her when she visited you at the Vale last spring."

Oh yes. Ned remembered the joy of seeing his sister for the first time in almost a year. He had been stunned initially at her transformation. The memory he harbored of his sister dressed in his old clothes, covered in mud and riding his brother's horse Giant had been shattered when he saw the beautiful, elegant Lady Lyanna Stark. She had arrived early, while Robert was still on an errand for Lord Arryn. Ned had walked right up to her, bowed slightly, greeting her with an affectionate "my lady," and she had responded by punching him in the arm. At the feast that night, she was seated next to Robert, who became instantly infatuated. He presented her with stories of his prowess in the training yard, while Ned watched Lyanna shape her food into the figure of a man. When she sliced off the strategically placed string bean and offered it to Robert, Ned snorted into his wine.

"She is beautiful." Robert had that starry eyed look on his face that he got whenever he thought of Lyanna.

"That she is, but, Robert, Lyanna is different. She's not a Southern lady; she's a northern free spirit. She's not one to sit and sew and coordinate your household. She's more likely to fight you than sing to you."

"She fights?"

"Robert, that's exactly what I'm talking about. Yes, she fights, and rides, and reads. Are you sure she's the type of woman that you want to marry?"

"A woman needs a few hobbies. Besides, she'll settle down once I get a child on her."

"And if she doesn't?"

"She will, she will."

"Yes, Robert, but what if she won't settle down?"

"She will." Robert waved at his friend to end the conversation. Ned was about to press the issue when he realized that Robert's attention was hopelessly diverted. Two women, likely the daughters of one of the tournament's merchants, were walking nearby. Both were average height, slender, and well-endowed. The older-looking one had hair the color of dark honey; the other a fiery redhead. They smiled at the men, and Ned shook his head as Robert turned toward the girls.

"You're soon to marry my sister, Robert." Ned whispered.

"Soon is not now. And now I'm a free man." Robert whispered back. "Ned, there are two. Would you care to join me? I'm sure that pretty blonde could do a lot towards warming up your icy heart."

"No. I'd rather not."

"Ned, get the stick out of your arse and have a little fun. It would do you good…and your cock as well, eh? You know, I hear if you don't use it you –"

"I know what they say. Please excuse me. My father will want to see me before the opening ceremonies."

"Aw, come on Ned. You know I didn't mean it. We don't have to. We could go to the river. I could probably use a quick dip before the festivities begin. I smell of horse shit."

"Aye." Ned laughed. "Robert, I do need to see my father before the ceremonies, though. I'll see you there. Enjoy your…swim."

Robert laughed as Ned headed off toward the castle.


	6. Rickard Stark

Chapter Six: Rickard

Lord Rickard Stark of Winterfell smiled as his son Ned left to follow Howland Reed out of the castle. They had just finished a delicious meal of brazed salmon, paired nicely with extraordinary tales of the boy's adventures in the Neck. By his suggestion, Brandon had dined with Ser Oswell Whent and several other notable knights of the realm. He wondered if Prince Rhaegar had been in attendance at their little feast. He had heard much of the young man's prowess on the field, but had not yet had the pleasure of seeing him in action. He watched his daughter take her seat at the table across from him and braced himself for the onslaught. He didn't have to wait very long.

"Father, please don't make me do it."

"Lyanna, you're Robert's betrothed. You should attend the feast with the Baratheons. For heaven's sake, you'll be married to the man in less than a year."

"Well I don't want to do _that_ either."

"Lyanna, you're a highborn lady, a Stark of Winterfell. Just like I've taught the boys, you are all gifted with the privileges of high birth, but with that comes the responsibilities. You cannot go through life riding with the wind in your hair, laughing at the world. It is time you faced your duty."

"Gods, why was I not born a man? Lyanna slumbed in her chair, sulking.

"If you had been born a man, you would still face responsibilities, Lyanna."

"Yes, but I wouldn't have to spread my legs so some sweaty southern mule could plow between them."

Her father couldn't help but chuckle. His daughter may take after the Starks in her appearance, but there was no missing the trace of her mother in her personality. Ever the lady in public, Clyrra had been a spicy woman with a crude sense of humor and a wit to outmatch most men. Perhaps the reason he had been so tolerant of Lyanna's wild behavior was that it reminded him so much of his precious Clyrra.

They both looked toward the door as the sound of Brandon's laughter carried up the stairway.

"Better to be a plowed field than a stallion trying to plow a block of ice."

"Lyanna!" Her father whispered, harshly.

"Father, I've told you my thoughts about Catelyn – "

"Yes, you've told everyone your thoughts about Catelyn."

"Yet no one will listen to me! It's obvious she has no feelings for Brandon. Sure, she thinks he's handsome, but she doesn't approve of his behavior. I can see it in her eyes. I think she still has feelings for that boy."

"She made it very clear that Petyr's feelings for her were not mutual. She seems like a strong woman. I thought you would admire her for that."

"Of course I respect her strength; I just don't think she's the right match for Brandon. He needs someone with a little more fire, and she needs someone with a good bit less…someone like…someone like Ned."

"Hoster Tully would never consent to wed his eldest daughter to a second son."

"Well," Lyanna said, admitting defeat, "at least she's not Lysa."

"Indeed," said Lord Rickard as his son Ned returned. Tall and solemn, already with a widespread reputation for his unquestionable sense of honor, Ned was a son any father would be proud to call his own. Still, he wished the boy would find something in life to spark a bit of passion in him. He would be knighted soon. Maybe it was time he started looking for a wife for his second son. Maybe one of Walder Frey's girls. That bond could do with a little strengthening.

"Ned, son, please sit. We have much to discuss and little time to do it." Ned took a seat next to his sister.

"This tournament was meant to be a cover for a secret meeting between several lords, myself included, and Prince Rhaegar."

"Father – " Ned stammered out, rising.

"Ned, Lord Arryn was one of those lords as well. His views mirror mine. As his squire, you do him no dishonor by being a part of this conversation. Now sit."

"Now, there are those that say King Aerys is mad. Having met the man myself, I am quite inclined to agree. Several months ago, it came to my attention that there is a plan to expedite the succession."

"This is treason." Ned stood again. "Lord Arryn would not agree to this."

"You think Lord Arynn has greater honor than I, do you? Tell me, Ned. Three years ago, when I had the snow fever right before our visit from Lord Manderly, was it dishonorable for Brandon to stand in my place?"

"No, of course not. He is your heir, and you were unwell."

"Just so. King Aerys is unwell, Ned. We are not talking of disposing of the king. We are only talking of having the king's heir take over responsibilities."

"Father," Lyanna piped in, "when will the lords meet with the prince?"

"We will not."

"What?" Lyanna raised her brow.

"The king's spider has become privy to our plan, so we must lay low for awhile. The king himself is here to make sure our meeting does not happen."

"Then why are you telling us all of this?" Ned asked, obviously still uncomfortable with the subject.

"Because you need to be on your guard. Aerys will be looking for traitors. None of you will give him any reason to doubt your undying loyalty to him and to house Targaryen. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Father." Said Ned.

"Lyanna?"

"If I must." She smiled at her father and placed her smooth hand on top of his.

"Father?" said Ned as they prepared to leave the room for the opening ceremonies.

"Yes, son?"

"Does Robert know?"

"Yes, Robert knows, although to my knowledge he has not shared this information with his younger brothers."

"And Robert agrees?"

"Yes, Lord Robert Baratheon has promised the support of Storm's End. He's a Targaryen, too, well, once removed on his mother's side. It pains him to move against his king, but he knows it's necessary for the good of the realm. He fully supports Rhaegar."

"Really?" Lyanna asked.

"Yes, I believe the words "savior of the realm" were used."

Ned laughed and held out his arm to escort his sister.

"Ready?"

"No, but Father says it will do no good to protest. Lead on, dear brother. Let's get this over with so I can get back to being ungrateful."

With that the siblings headed toward the great hall, followed closely by their beloved father.


	7. Chapter 7: Robert

Chapter Seven: Robert

Robert stepped out of the river and began to redress. It had taken longer than he had anticipated to rid himself of the layers of dirt embedded on his skin. He wasn't particularly fond of bathing. To him, a man should smell like a man, not some newborn babe. Tonight, however, he would be sitting next to Lyanna, and he didn't want to stink. Robert ran quickly to his room in the castle and threw on his clothes. He was nearly out the door when he remembered the comb, and returned to fetch it, tucking it safely inside his cloak.

As they were both still technically squires and wards of Lord Jon Arryn, Robert and Ned would be entering with him. Robert found them both standing just outside the great hall. He looked around and found his younger brothers standing with his late father's steward. Stannis was scolding Renly, which made Robert chuckle. Their youngest brother was always getting into trouble and, except for with his stern-hearted darling brother Stannis, charming his way out of it. Robert took several scans of the room, but Lyanna was nowhere to be seen.

Ned, sensing his unease, leaned over to him. "Father wasn't feeling very well, so Lyanna took him to see the maester. I expect they'll be along shortly."

Robert grinned at his friend who so easily read his thoughts. Soon they would be brothers, and Robert would have Lyanna. He watched as she suddenly appeared beside her brother Brandon. She was stunning, dressed in a silver gown adorned with a thin gold belt at her hips. _Ah, her hips._ Her hips were perfect curves, like the moon, leading up to a slender waist and ample breasts. Her hair hung down her back in a single braid woven with silver threads. He watched as she took her seat gracefully. Everything she did was graceful and perfect. Lyanna was beautiful, intelligent, and kind, everything Robert had ever wanted in a woman. Yes, he frequently enjoyed the intimacy of other women, but only because he did not yet have Lyanna. Once they were married, he would not stray, unless of course they were apart.

After they were announced, Lyanna left her brother and came to greet him.

"Lord Robert," she said as she dipped her head in a slight bow of respect, her long eyelashes gently brushing her cheeks as she looked at the floor. She placed her hand lightly on his arm, with only one finger actually touching him, like a dainty little bird. He led her to their seats, which were opposite the Starks and very near where the royal family would soon be seated.

The Lannisters entered next, led by Kevan Lannister. Robert wondered why the Lannister brat and heir, Ser Jaimie, was not leading the family. His sister, Cersei, was there, beautiful as always. Cersei Lannister was the only woman Robert had ever met that could challenge Lyanna's beauty, but she had a spiteful spirit that showed in her appearance. Robert had fantasized about bedding her, but it was always with a pillow over her face. He just couldn't stand those piercing green eyes. Jon Arryn had suggested the match once, but thankfully it had fallen through. Robert figured Lord Tywin was hoping Elia, the prince's sickly wife, would die in childbirth, so Cersei could wed Rhaegar. He didn't know the prince very well, but from his reputation he would not wish such a woman on him. Lord Arryn had cautioned him to woo Cersei and thus align himself with the Lannister power and wealth, but Robert still valued the desires of the man over the desires of the lord. Looking back on it, though, he wondered briefly if he had made the right choice. Lyanna was the love of his life, his soul mate. However, with the prince's plan to depose King Aerys, it might not have been a bad idea to have some stronger alliances. It would be curious to see which side the Lannisters would take.

At last the moment came for the king to enter the feast, followed by two of his kingsguard, his son Prince Rhaegar, and two more members of the kingsguard.


	8. Chapter 8: Lyanna

Chapter 8: Lyanna

Lyanna wiped her hand on the underside of her dress as soon as she sat down. Although she noted, and appreciated, his effort to bathe, Robert was always sweating like a pig. She had barely touched his arm, but her hand had emerged slimy nonetheless. He was saying something to her now about his little brother, but she hardly paid any attention. No, with Robert all she had to do was smile occasionally and the man would swoon for days. She found it disgusting. Her father and brothers told her she should be flattered, that Robert was a fine catch, but she found him to be rather dull. The man had no imagination, no vision, and he bored her to tears. He wasn't completely awful, though. He was always sweet to her, and her brother Ned loved him, which meant he must have a good heart. She had always known that one day she would have to marry a lord, though she had simultaneously nourished the hope that her father would change his mind. As she was now fifteen and betrothed, it seemed her dream would not come to pass. Still, if she _had _to marry a lord, she could probably do worse than Robert Baratheon.

Her thoughts settled on her chance encounter with Prince Rhaegar, wondering if he would recognize her. The young prince had a reputation for being gallant and proper. It had been fun to catch him off guard. Remembering his violet eyes fluttering over her naked body, she immediately felt guilty as his wife, Princess Elia of Dorne, entered the feast by his side. The prince was on the other side, so he did not see her as the royal procession passed in front of their table. Lyanna noted that Elia looked pale and tired, leaning on her husband's arm.

"Lyanna." She turned to face Robert who was now cradling a small package in his left hand. He handed it to her with a shy smile. It was heavy.

"I saw this at the market today. I thought it would complement your eyes, since they're grey."

_Yes, oaf. They are grey. And my hair is brown, and my dress is silver. Anything else you want to notice?_

Lyanna unwrapped the comb, putting on her best fake smile.

"Oh, Robert. It's lovely. Thank you."

"I knew you would like it. Ned said you would rather a dagger, but I told him that you would rather the comb. I told him, 'Ned, I know women, and women love jewelry.'"

"Yes, you do know women." _But you don't know me. _

Robert took her hand in his, gently stroking her fingertips. "Lyanna,I—"

"Lords and ladies, I welcome you to this tournament which Lord Whent has so graciously hosted. I look forward the festivities to come, but first, I have a surprise for you all."

Lyanna turned to see King Aerys standing, addressing the crowd with a smooth voice and a malicious grin. Goosebumps appeared on her arm and she could feel Robert tense up beside her. The hall, noisy just moments before, was now utterly silent as everyone braced themselves for a "surprise" from their king. After several suspenseful moments, the doors opened and young Ser Jaimie Lannister entered dressed in white scale armor. He approached the dais and knelt before the king. It was all over so fast. A white cloak was produced, the words were said, and Tywin Lannister's heir rose a landless knight of the Kingsguard.

"Tywin's not going to like that." Her brother whispered behind her, wiggling in to sit beside her.

Lyanna turned to acknowledge her brother. "Brandon, I thought you were sitting with the prince?"

"I was, but Aerys demanded that Rhaegar be seated at his table. Besides, someone has to keep an eye on you, dear sister." He winked at her affectionately.

After a brief welcome speech from Lord Whent, the night's entertainment began. Tournaments always attracted performers; the opportunity to perform before hundreds of lords meant a greater chance of earning a place in a holdfast. Bards, dancers, jugglers, and even an acrobatics act were all waiting to demonstrate their abilities.

Lyanna tuned out almost immediately. Her brother and Robert were engaging in a heated debate over the advantages of a war hammer versus the long sword in combat, fueled by their efficient consumption of wine. The bards, though talented, were boring as well. They all sang the same silly songs. She finally gave up and began imagining conversations between people across the hall. Her gaze fell on Cersei and her uncle Kevan Lannister. Both had fixed smiles on their faces, but their eyes were angry. They seemed to be arguing.

"_Cersei, did you put Jaimie up to joining the Kingsguard? Your father will not be pleased." _Lyanna imagined Kevan was telling his niece. Cersei took a deep sip of wine.

"_I did no such thing. Jaimie made his own decision. Mmmm, this wine is delicious. I think I'll have another glass. Excuse me, yes, you, girl, fetch me more wine."_

"_Cersei, you should not drink so much."_

"_And you should not lecture me so much."_

"_It is unbecoming."_

"_Look at me. Would any man in this room think I'm 'unbecoming'. I am a goddess."_

"_You are a slut."_

Lyanna was torn away from her imaginary eavesdropping by the sound a long, sad note. The voice was a soft tenor, and the tone tore at her heart. She searched for the bard only to discover the prince himself singing in the middle of the hall. For several minutes, she listened, entranced, to his sad song. In the last verse he turned to face her table and paused, just briefly, as their eyes met. The tone changed ever so slightly, it seemed to her, from one of mourning to one of regret. He finished the song and returned to his table.

"Lyanna, I've never seen you react to a song like that before. Are you….are you crying?" Her brother teased her, elbowing her gently in the arm.

"Bah!" she said, knocking his wine glass over into his lap. "Oh, sorry. I'm afraid my tears got you a little wet."


	9. Rhaegar

_Author's Note: I recently switched jobs, so I have not had much time to write until this week. Sorry for the delay. I'm already working on the next chapter, which should be posted by the middle of next week, if not sooner. As a teaser…it's going to be an Elia POV chapter. Enjoy! _

Rhaegar

Rhaegar flung open the tent after his entrance was hurriedly announced to his father.

"Your Grace," said Rhaegar, bowing his head.

"You know, in Slaver's Bay, I hear they use titles like "Your Radiance" and "Your Magnificence". What do you prefer?" Aerys looked up at his firstborn son, his purple eyes dancing.

"Whatever Your Radiant Grace prefers, Your Grace."

"Haha. 'Radiant Grace'. I rather like that, although it is quite a mouthful. I shall think on it. For now, 'Your Grace' will suffice."

"Yes, your grace."

"Ah, Rhaegar, always so formal. Come now, son, I'm your father afterall. You need not be so formal with me. And what in the seven hells are you wearing? Surely you do not plan to joust in that."

Rhaegar ran his hand over the dented and rusty armor, sighing.

"This is the armor you commanded me to wear, your grace, as atonement for my supposed sins."

"Well take it off. It is unseemly."

"Yes, your grace."

"Father."

"Yes, father."

"Better."

"Father, may I ask you something?"

"Of course, my son."

"Why did you name Jaimie Lannister to the Kingsguard?"

"The lad has surely proven his abilities. I think even Ser Barriston would have difficulty against the boy."

"I don't doubt his prowess, your grace. My concern is for the political consequences."

"Go on, say what you mean."

"Your grace, surely this will not go over well with Lord Tywin."

"I could give a rat's ass about what would or would not go over well with Lord Tywin. I'm the king, not that gold-shitting weasel. Do you think he is unafraid of me? Do you think he would challenge me?"

Rhaegar winced as the king held his arm over a small lit candle. He could smell the burning of his father's flesh, but still the king did not move his arm.

"I don't think he would dare challenge you. Is that why you did it? To prove a point? Father, a king who has to remind his people that he's king is not a very good king."

"Call me Father again, and I will have your tongue ripped out." Aerys said as he removed his arm and pulled his sleeve down over the many burn marks on his arm. "Power is where people believe it is. If the people do not fear the power of their king, then he has no real power. Occasionally, it becomes _necessary_ to remind my subjects of my power. You should learn that, if you ever hope to sit the iron throne."

"Yes, F—your grace."

"You may go."

Rhaegar stormed from the tent, fuming. He took deep breaths to maintain his composure and headed toward the stables. As he opened the door, he was shocked to find Lyanna Stark, dressed in a light tunic and kicking a mail shirt that was lying on the ground. He raised an eyebrow at her rather creative curses.

"Treacherous troll of tin. Hmm, don't think I've ever heard that one before, my lady." Rhaegar nodded his head as she bowed hers to him.

"Your grace." Lyanna smiled like a kid that's been caught putting her hand in the cookie jar.

"Were you just venting your frustration, or were you actually trying to put that on by yourself."

Lyanna smiled again, this time blushing slightly. She told him the story of Howland Reed, her attempt to confront the knights about their squires, and her plan to face them in the joust. Rhaegar considered for a few moments, and then began to help her don the armor properly.

"Your grace, you seem deep in thought. Is something troubling you?"

"It's nothing. I'm just thinking of today's joust."

"Liar. You're thinking of Aerys."

Rhaegar stared at her, dumbfounded. He knew Lyanna was a different sort of woman, but he had never met anyone so bold of tongue. Even his close friend, Lord Connington, would not have been so blunt.

"Forgive me, your grace. I often speak without thinking. My father says it will bring me trouble one day. But it is your father that's troubling you, isn't it?"

Rhaegar paused a moment, and then like a tidal wave, relief washed over him as he confided in her, this beautiful woman he barely knew. He told her everything, about his mother, his father's distrust, his plan to put his father aside. He left out nothing. By the end he was weeping, his head resting gently on Lyanna's shoulder as she tried to comfort him.

"How could I have told you these things?" Rhaegar asked. "I barely know you. Yet, I feel I can trust you. I shouldn't."

"I think desperately needing someone to trust often overpowers reason."

"I feel so….naked." Rhaegar looked up at her and Lyanna laughed.

"Well, I guess that makes us even, then, since you have seen me as such."

Rhaegar smiled at the memory but still felt guilty. He really did feel like he could trust this woman, but he knew that he should not have.

Lyanna took a deep breath. "I'm betrothed to Robert Baratheon."

"So I've heard. He seems a decent fellow."

"In comparison, I guess. I find him stinky, dull-witted, and overly fond of female flesh."

"Well that last bit could suite you. Your flesh is ever so….female."

Lyanna rolled her eyes at him.

"Sorry," said Rhaegar, holding his hands up in a token of surrender. "So, you do not wish to marry him?"

"I do not."

"Is there someone else?"

"What? No, not really. It's not even that I want to marry for love, although that would certainly be ideal. I know that I have a responsibility to my family, to Winterfell, to marry for the betterment of my house."

"Then what is it?"

"I want to be able to be myself once I'm married. I'm not one to spend the day doing needlework and sipping tea."

"Surely Robert wouldn't mind if you didn't do those things."

"He expects me to be the perfect lady. He's completely infatuated with his idea of who I am, but he doesn't know anything about me really. Besides, he can't even stay loyal to his sacred idea of me."

"My lady?"

"His bed is never cold."

"Ah, I see. Well, my lady, it seems we both have our troubles."

"Do not fret, my prince, I shall keep your secrets…and pray that things work out for the best."

"I shall pray for you as well, my lady. For now, I'm afraid I must find my squire. My royal father has demanded I don armor more befitting a prince."

"It does look rather ragged." Lyanna giggled. "Good luck with the tournament, your grace."

Rhaegar turned back just as he was about to exit.

"My lady," he said softly, "Ser Trillare leans back in his saddle when he strikes. Feint to strike at the helm and then move to unhorse him."

"Thanks for the tip."

"Good luck….Lyanna."


	10. Chapter 10: Elia

_Author's Note: This chapter was the most difficult for me to write so far. Not much is known about Elia, so it was difficult to wrap my head around her character. I did a lot of research into the different theories about her personality and her reaction to Rhaegar's interaction with Lyanna. I went with a direction that seemed somewhat unpopular but made the most sense to me when you take into consideration the personalities of the people involved. _

Elia

"My lady, you do not seem yourself tonight. Is something wrong?"

Elia rubbed her hands together nervously under the table as her lady-in-waiting and closest companion Ashara Dayne, removed her amethyst necklace, her smooth hands brushing lightly against Elia's neck.

"I am tired, that's all," said Elia, smiling at her friend. "I bet you are, as well. Each night you are dancing so much I don't think your feet ever stand still."

Ashara laughed. "It's true. Oh, but I do love it. I feel like I'm flying, although some of my partners are more charming than others."

"Oh?"

Ashara blushed. Elia felt a twinge of jealousy that she buried deep in her chest. She knew there was something going on between Ashara and Brandon Stark. She had watched them all night. His eyes followed her as she danced, and when they danced together Ashara's delight shown like a beacon. Still, she worried for her friend. Ashara had not been the only woman Brandon watched.

At that moment, Rhaegar entered, dressed in the velvet black tunic he had worn to that night's feast.

"Your grace," he nodded toward Elia. "My lady," he said as he gave a slight nod in the direction of Ashara.

"Ashara, you may go," said Elia quietly. "Thank you for your help."

"Yes, my lady." Ashara made a small curtsy to the royal couple and left the bedchamber. Rhaegar began helping Elia let down her hair.

"How are you feeling," he asked as he kissed the top of her head.

"Better today." She paused, considering. "I'm cloaked in the Mother's Blessing."

"Truly?"

"My moon's blood was a fortnight ago today. My womb is ripe for your seed, your grace."

Rhaegar sighed. "We don't have to do this, Elia."

She glared at him, her frustration and fear welling up inside of her. "Rhaegar, you need a son. As it stands, Rhaella cannot inherit the throne. Would you leave the realm to the cruel whims of Viserys? You know as well as I do that boy will be as bad as Aerys, if not worse."

Rhaegar sighed and began to kiss her neck softly. Elia would have told him that it wasn't necessary, that his kisses, however sweet and intimate, only made it worse, but she kept her thoughts to herself. Men were sensitive things when it came to the bedchamber. Her throat gagged as his rough hands fondled her breasts. As he carried her to the bed, tears began to form in her eyes. He was kind and avoided looking at her face. When he entered her she couldn't stop the tears and they flowed silently from her closed eyes. He made it quick, fulfilling his duty with a low moan. After, he immediately left for the privy, graciously giving Elia a few minutes alone to compose herself. She wiped away her tears, praying the Mother would bless her with a son. She turned her back to the door, her eyes tearing up again as he crawled in bed beside her. Eventually her tears dried and she drifted off to sleep to dream of violet eyes…and dark hair.


End file.
